


Where the moon met the sea

by RatTale



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Barbossa is a bad-ass, Beat-down, But he can't be one all the time, But he isn't one all the time, Character Study?, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor canon divergence, PTSD, Past Abuse, Suggestion of torture, Takes place during At World's End, curse, jack is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatTale/pseuds/RatTale
Summary: Barbossa pushed himself further into the lighthouse, cutting out the moon and world outside, relishing the quiet dark.“Captain.”Barbossa froze, his entire body tight with apprehension. That voice. No, it couldn’t be. It should be rotting in a cell somewhere.
Relationships: Hector Barbossa & Jack Sparrow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Where the moon met the sea

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. I love Barbossa - his story, character and personality make me obscenely happy, so I wanted to write a short introspective moment with him and the Pearl, and then BAM, things got crazy.
> 
> Not sure if everyone is in character, but it was a blast to write, so I hope, despite the flaws, it's still an enjoyable read.
> 
> NOTE: Set during At World's End

The _Pearl’s_ men needed a rest. After rescuing Jack and finally reaching the land of the living once more, the atmosphere on deck was somber and quiet. Barbossa recognized the need. His men were tired of the long sea and voyage, a bit of land would always do a sea-dogs legs some good.

So, with little regard to anyone’s mutterings and protests, particularly Will and Dalma, Barbossa guided his ship to a small port. They would not be able to find much in the form of provisions, but there was a small tavern, and he could already see the spirit’s rising in his men’s eyes as they docked.

He ordered Gibbs to stay aboard for a few hours, promising to come relieve him then. Gibbs did not grumble, his firm and confidant ‘Aye, Sir’ a soothing caress over his strained nerves which he hadn’t noticed had gotten so tight. The voyage felt long and unforgiving and to be frank he’d forgotten what it meant to be tired. But despite his exhaustion, Barbossa smiled, he could never take any feeling for granted again.

The tavern was very small, but Pirates be Pirates and they soon had make-shift tables and stools outside, the familiar tunes already filling the air up, along with laughter and singing. Barbossa quickly paid for his bottle of rum and sauntered outside where Jack was attempting to woo the Tavern-keeper’s daughter. By her stance, Barbossa predicted a slap in Sparrow’s near future.

Leaving the laughter and song behind, Barbossa started his way up a small hill to a dilapidated lighthouse not too far away. The structure suggested a far more prosperous time for the small spit of land. He wondered at that, how tides and times changed, swinging by and over you, leaving one decrepit, old and worthless, like a broken lighthouse. Not that he was there, not by a long shot, but time loomed suddenly when it hadn't before. He had to _think_ about it. Where he would end up one day. He huffed, hopefully not as an old decrepit lighthouse.

With Jack constantly in his shadow, bickering over the Captain’s cabin and quarters, Barbossa had found himself, for lack of a better term, overwhelmed. He’d always appreciated his private time, his silences, and the last few days had proved trying. He wanted a few hours to himself, before they set sail and the whole blasted bickering would start up again.

There were times he was sorely tempted to shoot that man through the head.

The lighthouse was good and ruined, the door hanging on its hinges and the tower almost completely crumbled in on itself. But the base offered a nice little nook for him to hide away in. Grabbing an old crate, he placed it inside in such a way so that as he sat down, he could see the tavern and of course his ship.

The moon hung above her, showing only of half her cold face to her admirers. Once, a long time ago, he may have called her beautiful, today Barbossa struggled to think of her as anything but cruel. When he slept he made sure to shut the curtains against her gaze, too many times had he woken up in her beams and felt his heart tighten with fear.  
  
He let out a hard breath and took another swig, bowing his head to instead look at his boots. He sometimes worried he would never get over that fear.

A slap rang up from the tavern and Barbossa turned just as the girl stomped back inside, leaving a confused and bewildered Jack in her wake. Barbossa laughed and took a long swig from his bottle. Jack. That blasted sneaky little rat. He hated him to the very depths of his soul, but then the little shit had lifted his curse. Albeit after technically killing him. It still felt like yesterday when he’d stood in that cave all those years ago. That awful feeling of nothing tight like a noose around his neck, but never tight enough to kill, just to torture. The shudder ripped through him, making the liquid slosh, he quickly took another hard swig. It was over, over and bloody done with. No more undead, no more curse, no more frustration and bitterness.

But the longer he sat the worse it sunk in. Time to think brought with it the tide of memories, and Barbossa struggled to keep from being pulled down. Suddenly being alone did not hold all its appeal.

" _You stare at the sea as if it owes you something, mate_." Barbossa laughed at the memory, a young Jack standing next to him on the warm summer deck, curious by his intense gaze directed at the vast ocean. He may as well have, his thoughts dragged him so far down he was often worried he might drown. 

Still, he pushed himself further into the lighthouse, cutting out the moon and world outside, relishing the quiet dark.

“Captain.”

Barbossa froze, his entire body tight with apprehension. That voice. No, it couldn’t be. It should be rotting in a cell somewhere.

Hard boots tapped on the cement and came to stand right under his gaze. He looked up.

Hard black muscles glistened in the cursed moonlight, his smile sharp and white against the darkness and dark eyes glistening with something terrible. His old Bo'sun spoke, voice like a dark horrible siren, “Long time no see. Eh Captain?”

A sea of horrible memories rushed over him, almost drowning him in the process. Or perhaps it had managed to do so, because he found his throat tight and unyielding.  
  
“Aren’t you even going ta say ‘hi’?”

He should move, he should run, should get out from under that leering grin as fast as his crippled leg could carry him. But he couldn’t. Just like before he didn’t move. The Bo'sun, still broad and powerful, still fierce and intimidating, knelt before him.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see ye again.” He said, his white teeth flashing in the dark. “But then, everyone said ye were dead.” The smiled faded, “I believed it too.”

Grab your gun, shoot him! His hand twitched to do just that and quick as a viper, two large hands gripped his wrists, ripping the both of them to a stand. The bottle shattered on the hard floor. “I don’t think so, _Captain_.”

Barbossa swallowed, “We’re not undead anymore.” His voice was husky, desperate to hold back the terror ripping through his body in waves. “You’ll kill me this time.”

The Bo'sun smiled, “I know.”

Now he struggled, his survival instinct finally kicking. Digging his feet into the ground, he pulled hard to get his wrists free from hands like iron clamps. The Bo'sun tossed his head back and laughed, the sound clapping loudly in the ruins, before running forwards to slam Barbossa into the wall. His head bounced against the bricks, making everything swim and spin. A hard knee slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Another, this time into his side, causing him to gasp and collapse to his knees.

Before he could think, he was yanked up from the floor again and swiftly hit into the wall. Once, twice and once more, and then tossed like a ragdoll towards a large piece of mortar. His knee and hip took the brunt of the impact. Barbossa barely held back a scream of pain. With a hand still trembling from pain and unsteady with fear he ripped his pistol from his holster and aimed through blurred vision at his former Bo'sun.

His hand was gripped and twisted, almost snapping the wrist, but Barbossa snarled, refusing to let go. The Bo'sun’s grip tightened and beat the hand into the sharp end of the mortar, finally snapping the fingers open to release the gun. “None of that now, _sir_.”

With his other hand Barbossa grabbed his dagger, swiping a wide arc towards the bastard’s chest, the blade hit its mark, slicing a clean cut across the black skin. Blood gushed from the wound and Bo'sun snarled in pain, and instinctively and swung. Barbossa slid left, the fist colliding with the mortar, shattering beneath it. He made another strike with the dagger at the abdomen, but the Bo'sun caught his hand, slamming the dagger from it as he had the pistol. With both hands secured he smiled, “Warm-up over, let’s get this started, shall we?”

Barbossa kicked out hitting him in the knee, “Fuck you!” He rarely swore, not unless he was under pressure.

Being knocked twice against the mortar, Barbossa’ vision blurred again, making it difficult to focus. And the world shifted, the mortar becoming wood, the walls bathed in warm lamp-light instead of the cold light of the moon. It'll be over soon, he thought, but shook his head to disperse the thought. He was pulled to his feet again and then slammed down stomach first on the cold ground (why is the deck so cold?) before he could think. A heavy weight pressed on top of him, his wrists held tightly in place as they were tied roughly by rope.

His eyes, still blurred looked for a clock, why couldn’t he find the mantlepiece? It usually didn't take long.

“I always liked to start with the legs,” The Bo'sun chuckled, his breath sliding over his neck. “That way ya couldn’t run.” A hard knee pressed into his calf, and instantly Barbossa froze again. His entire body quacking with fear. He shut his eyes, feeling the pressure rise, the pain jumping leaps and bounds.

“Our first pop for the night,” he chuckled, “This’ll be yer last first, won’t it? I’ll be sure to make it special.”

“Stop, ya fucking bastard!” His shin bone strained against the pressure, he grit his teeth against the pain, any second now, any second now it would snap –

The gunshot clapped and instantly the pressure lifted, leaving Barbossa a gasping mess on the floor. But the hands that grabbed him were gentle, the voice worried and kind. The hands quickly undid his bonds and tried to turn him over, but Barbossa ignored them and instead he crawled and struggled his way to the beam of moonlight. Shoving his hand into the light he watched, waited in pained anticipation for the curse to show itself.

It didn’t. Of course, it didn’t. He glanced around still shaking. This wasn’t _The Pearl_ or his quarters, this was a small Port they were staying in for the night. He wasn't going to be tortured, he wasn't going to be held down. Slowly his surroundings made more and more sense, the horrible nightmare fading. He sat up and turned to see the body of the Bo'sun on the ground, a hole in his head. Dead, dear God the man was dead? 

“Hector?”

Jack, his savior, damn it all, stood but three feet away his eyes wide and soft with worry. Barbossa had no words to give, and so slumped against the mortar, and kept his eyes on the ground. He should leave, he should get up and run away from this whole atrocious situation, but he couldn’t move, he was in too much damned pain.

A feather came into view and when he looked up Jack was holding out his hat. When had it fallen off? With a hand still trembling he took the hat, biting down a hiss at the stinging in his wrist and slowly replaced it on his head. Half-a moment later, Jack sat down in front of him, cross legged and still mightily worried. “What happened, mate?”

“I just froze.” He said.

Jack smiled, showing off his gold teeth, “We don’t freeze mate, if we do, we’d be dead,” he frowned, “Which you almost were if me all lonesome hadn’t come lookin’ to bug ye. Case in point we don’t freeze.” He expression sobered again, “What happened?”

He kept his eyes to the dead man not five feet away, “Crazy Bo'sun out fer revenge, that be all.”

“Mate, I heard most of what he said.”

Barbossa looked up at that, incredulous, “Ya heard and it took you that long ter help?”

Waving both of his hands Jack said quickly, “I thought you two were…” he gestured but Barbossa only frowned. Jack winced, gestured again which resulted in only a raised eyebrow. He sighed and said softly, “Having a good bugger in the lighthouse.”

He gaped; his jaw perfectly slack from shock. But the rage bubbled and boiled, rushing up through his chest and erupted in a roar, “How the devil did ya even come to that conclusion, you stupid, half-wit blaggard!”

“I thought you liked it rough!”

Barbossa pressed his face into his hands. Damn the idiot a thousand times over, “Jeezus.” He muttered completely fed-up, but still unable to stop the chuckle. “Not that rough, Jack.”

“Duly noted.”

They sat in silence, the sounds from the tavern drifting up to them through the cold night. Barbossa turned to look outside. He had a perfect view of the _Pearl_ where she stood on the open sea. He loved that ship as much as a man can love a ship. But he often struggled to remove himself from the horror she had held over him. He often wondered if those two fools Raghetti and Pintel had the same problems. If they too stared at the moon, the sea, the ship as it owed them something.

" _She owes me nothin_ '." _he'd replied so long ago. The wind and seagulls calling to them in open skies._ " _I watch her to keep an old fear at bay._ " 

“Why was he talking like it had happened before?”

The voice floated in to push his memories almost too far away. He sighed. “Leave it be Jack.” Barbossa muttered and tried to get himself upright. Everything hurt.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he collapsed back down, breathing hard from the exertion. “Won’t do you any good. I know you Hector; know you like I know meself.”

He snorted.  
  
“And I know how your heads works. You don’t let things get to you. You gobble em down and make ‘im part of ye. Like grinding meat into mince to make a pie.” He gestured, “You’re a pie Hector, a mighty ugly one, and I don’t think you taste too good, but still a pie.”

“There be a point to this?” he asked, completely exasperated by the stupidity of this conversation.

“Yes,” he continued, “If the meat aint ground, the pie will be bad, and you’ll have to bake it again. But if you keep using the unground meat for making pies, then the baking won’t ever be good baking and you’ll always end up with a bad pie.”

“Jaaaack” he warned.

“Me point being…” he smiled, “If ya leave this it’ll keep haunting you mate.”

“He be dead.”

“Wasn’t the fact that he was alive that made ya freeze, was it?” a rough hand touched his forearm, “Hector, why was he talking like this happened before?”

Again, the softness, that open honesty that reared its head from time to time, and damn it all the man was _right_ in that skewed stupid way of his. Barbossa needed to let this out, or it would consume him.

And the awfully strange thing was, out of everyone on that ship, Jack was the only one he trusted enough to talk to. Perhaps now would be the time to speak of things he could never quite seem to bury.

Leaning back against the mortar, Barbossa stared at Jack’s hand, bathed in moonlight, still holding onto him. He closed his eyes. “Cause it had.” He half expected some sort of comment, an ‘I knew it!’ or some other stupid piece of selfishness Jack had a knack for. But credit to the Pirate he kept his mouth shut and waited for Barbossa to continue.

“After we’d learned of our curse, we were rightfully angry and bitter at our fate, and we ended up screaming more at each other than anything else. But somehow, through luck or me own leadership or both, we managed ta pull it together and search fer the gold we needed. But being undead tis hard, and as time passed we each found a means to cope...” Barbossa swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He opened his eyes to look at Jack who was staring at him with a most intense expression. “Ragetti enjoyed a bit of voyeurism, Master Pintel had taken ta wood carvings of all things, and I found meself enjoying the sight of people eating.”  
  
“A fair bit of apples no doubt?” Jack said, voice light but soft with what Barbossa could only believe was understanding. It was enough to push him forward.

“Aye, and we all had our own way a dealing with our misfortune, and the Bo'sun… “ he swallowed, “He needed an outlet too.”

Jack frowned, and Barbossa looked away, straight at the wall, “The first night was probably the worst of em. He gave me no quarter, breaking and popping any bone he could put pressure on, and at first I fought back, cut him, shot him, hit him, everything me could think of I did.” He shook his head, and closed his eyes pulling a pained smile across his lips, “Eventually I got tired of fighting, and just let him be. It only took up about half an hour by the clock in any case.”

For a long moment Jack said nothing, then he swallowed and finally said in a voice a little cracked from an emotion Barbossa didn’t dare identify, “How many times did this happen?”

“Every few weeks or so.”

“Jeezus, Hector.”

“I couldn’t feel anything Jack.” He said, unsure why he was trying to make the man not worry so, “But it was the sensation that was horrible, that feeling of being completely helpless at the mercy of a man who had none to give.” He laughed, “I believe he found perverse pleasure in beating people, and it frustrated him that no one could feel his blows. So, he took it out on the one he knew it would humiliate the most.”

“Why the devil didn’t you throw the bastard overboard?”

He opened his mouth to reply, stopping dead when he realised none of the words he had ready made sense. They hadn’t needed the Bo'sun, they could have thrown him over after getting his blood, there had been no logical reason to keep him aboard. And yet there he had stayed, and Barbossa knew there was only one reason for it.  
  
“You were afraid of him.” Jack said nodding.

Barbossa turned away. To have such a thing revealed to your rival of all people! Humiliating and weak! Damn it all!

 _Wide eyes looked at him, filled with surprise, "What were_ you _afraid of?"_

But the hand on his arm only tightened and another came to rest on his shoulder, and when Jack spoke he could hear no teasing or mockery in his voice, only that same quiet understanding. “It’s alright, Hector.” He said, “We’re all afraid of something, eh? And if we don’t turn ta face it, it’ll catch us from behind.”

Despite it all Barbossa chuckled and turned to look at him again, “What ruddy fool taught you that piece of nonsense?”

“You did.”

He blinked. He couldn’t even remember it, but Jack so rarely gave credit to anyone for anything. Jack was smiling now, open and friendly, and Barbossa found himself returning it. “He’s dead now Hector, there’s no more bogeyman to chase you.”

Barbossa turned his head. In the darkness lay the body of his Bo'sun, beams of moonlight falling on his arms and chest, casting him in an ethereal light. His nightmare had been amplified by him, brought to some horrible point of no return. But now he was dead, he closed his eyes, biting back a sneer, by Jack Sparrows hand nonetheless.

“So, has the meat been ground?”

Now he frowned, but Jack’s knowing smile and tilted eyebrow softened his expression once more, “Aye, I believe so.”

Slowly Jack stood, his knees popping in protest, “We best get you to the ship.”

“Aye,” a bed sounded heavenly by now.

It took some effort, Barbossa was stiff and aching, his nerves unused to pain for so long they almost felt oversensitive. As they limped past the pub one or two of the crew called to them, worried at the state of one of their captains. But Jack quickly kept them at bay.

“No need to worry gents, our dear Barbossa had a might too much to drink, and took a tumble over some rocks. He never could ‘old his liquor, but he should be right as rain – tomorr-OH!”

Barbossa smiled and removed his foot from Jack’s instep. “Drunk I maybe, but deaf I be not.” He slurred, staggering for good measure, just to make it believable. With some effort they made their way up the walkway where Gibbs met them with the same concern. Jack made sure to keep the ‘hold his liquor’ part out of this explanation, but Barbossa didn’t believe Gibbs was fooled for a moment. The man could be fiercely cunning when he wanted to be.

“Then seeing as the Captain took a tumble, I’ll bring a few cold presses and a bandage or two?”

“Should help!”

When they stood before the Captain’s quarters, Barbossa fervently wished to be anywhere else. He could see that damn Bo'sun in every shadow and shape cast by the moonlight. His heart was pounding, his throat tight once more. Jack, either oblivious or deliberate, opened the door to the cabin and gently pulled Barbossa inside.

He stopped for a moment, hesitating at the doorway, uncertainty and fear still clinging to him like old seawater. But unbidden the words rose up from the depths…

_A far younger Barbossa smiled and the lad, "Drownin'." at the surprised look he chuckled, "We all be afraid o' somethin' lad. But if we don't turn te face the fear, it'll catch us from behind."_

To wash that terror back to the deep.

He stepped inside, and Jack smiled, fleeting and quick. Nimble hands removed and plucked away his jacket, vest, sword and pistol. Pressed backwards onto the bed his boots were also dropped next to the pile. His eyes were already drooping, the exhaustion from the voyage, and the horrible evening finally catching up to him.

But there was one more thing.

“Jack?”

The pirate paused at the doorway, on his way out, “Yes?”

“Close the curtains, would ye?”

Jack didn’t hesitate, he walked over reached above them and quickly shut the curtains, blocking out the moonlight. “Goodnight Hector.”

“G’night, and…” he swallowed, keeping his face securely at the wall, “Thank ye, Jack.”

The door creaked closed, and Hector lay still in the soft quiet. 

After a long time he glanced up at the curtains, keeping the moon and her cold face hidden. Barbossa sighed and with a shaky hand, he pulled open the curtains, allowing the light to spill into the small cabin. He looked up at the moon, her pale complexion and shimmering surface. Her curse and cruelty all wrapped into one beautiful package. 

_"You stared down the sea?"_

_Here he outright laughed, the waves below rising with it. "Aye, I stared down the sea."_

Barbossa settled into the small cot. Listened to waves, the wind and singing from shore. And stared at the moon.


End file.
